Page 21 of Mountain Wood

Oscar’s loud bark makes me jump in surprise. She bumbles up my back steps and heads right to me, wagging her tail. Too excited for her own good, she bumps into my leg, almost making me spill my coffee.

“Good morning to you, too.” Giving her a good head scratch, I look around for Dean.

I think I have a new obsession.

Last night I went through every post on hisMountainWoodaccount and tried to find him on other social media platforms, which turned out to be a totalbust. I followed him on the app with my secondary account and went down a Dean thirst trap rabbit hole I have zero desire to get out of. I loved seeing the progression of his account. I know the video that gained him the most followers was the one I self-pleasured to yesterday because it got the most hits by a landslide. And seeing how far he’s come with his edits warms my content creating influencer heart.

I’d love to help him level up. He’s got enough followers to make money off his videos, so why not rake in some extra dough? No one turns down easy money.

Not that content creating is easy, but he’s got the chops for it.

What I don’t understand is how he hasn’t capitalized his cabin business with these videos yet. It would be a little tricky, but it’s definitely doable. A hot lumberjack like him hosting guests in a place like this? He could put Bear Creek Cabins on the getaway bucket list for women across the world.

Grace, stop. It’s not your place to market him.

Besides, I don’t think Dean would appreciate encouragement like that. I saw how long it took him to move off the lawn last night when I zinged him with his handle name. I hope he didn’t think I was teasing him.

On the contrary, I was baiting him.

Oscar runs in a little circle and barks at me again before dashing down my steps, back up them, then back down again.

Talk about having the zoomies.

“You want to go on a walk?”

Her bark and wild tail wagging are a yes to me.

Zipping up my coat, I set my coffee cup down and follow her lead, taking the green trail. If there’s wildlife roaming around, Oscar will alert me. Animal instincts, right? Plus, I don’t see tracks anywhere, so I think we’re fine.

The stream greets us with a fast current rushing over rocks. At least the mud has frozen. It would be a shame to ruin two outfits in twenty-four hours.

Speaking of which, the second post I made last night got a ton of views. My client emailed this morning thrilled at the traction and ensured folks in the comment section that everything is machine washable, and the mud should come out with stain remover spray. I’ll take their word for it for now.

At least my out-of-the-box plan for their clothing line is working, which makes me super proud of myself. Having Oscar in the photos helped, too. Most models pose the same way—sleek, stylish, and edgy. No shade to them, but how can someone be outdoors andnotget dirty? Oscar was the perfect accessory to the rugged outdoor wear that can take a beating and come out looking brand new every time. The fact that I rolled in the mud with a big, genuine smile on my face probably only went viral because “Grace Finch would never.”

What a laugh. No one, including me, knows who I really am. My mother would have my head if she caught me acting in any other way but meticulously poised and perfect.

When I was seven, I took a big pot from the kitchen and drug it out to our gardens. I plucked a bunch of flowers and leaves and mixed it with dirt. Then splashed hose water into it, rolled little balls of petal patties, and pretended to feed my invisible pets.

After I was done playing, I put the pot in the sink and changed into my dinner dress but forgot to scrub the dirt from under my fingernails.

My mother went through the roof. The things she said, the way she made me feel…

I never made another petal patty again.

Even now, I can hear the disdain in her voice if she saw the video I posted last night.“Mud is for masks in a spa, not rolling around in while wearing a three-thousand-dollar parka and fleece-lined cargo pant ensemble, Grace. You should be ashamed of yourself. Rolling around in mud like a pig. Is that what you are? Did I raise a pig? And why on earth did you wear your hair pulled back? You look ghastly. Wear it down and fix your lipstick. I won’t let you embarrass me.”

My mom’s blocked from my social media, so she’ll never see yesterday’s content. I kind of wish she could though. A littlefuck you, look at me now, would be nice.

Snapping a picture of me on a rock with Oscar, I post it with the caption,“Wake up and carpe this diem like the baddie you are!”

My little inspirational posts don’t get as many likes or comments as my others, but I don’t care. I like hyping people up, and if I can boost one follower’s confidence for the day, then I’m successful.

While I wait for the photo to upload—because cell service is spotty around here—a notification pops up on my screen.

MountainWood has posted a new video.

I click that bitch so fast it’s a wonder I don’t chip a nail.

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